Sunday, November 15, 2009
Missing ingredient in Malaysia: culture
I do like to see what Dato' Johan Jaafar has to say every Saturday in the NST, especially about literature, though I do not necessarily agree with everything he says. In a recent column entitled Literature may be missing ingredient in our lives, he suggests that, perhaps, this is the fundamental difference between Malaysia and Indonesia: that they take their culture seriously, while we don't. He was referring to the brouhaha about the use of ketoprak and tarian pendet to promote local tourism, and the furore over our alleged propensity to menklaim Rasa Sayang and Suliram as our own. (He was writing in reference to the Deputy Higher Education Minister Datuk Saifuddin Abdullah's suggestion that 'science stream and engineering students' should be offered literature as part of their curriculum).So, are we finally ready for some sort of intellectual debate then?
Culture is sancrosanct
He says: "... to the Indonesians, culture is sacrosanct.
"We erroneously believe that the ones protesting are in the minority ... (but almost) every scholar, artist and journalist in Indonesia is adamant that Malaysia has no right ...
"... they (the scholars) all agree, carrying bamboo spears and 'hunting' for Malaysians in the markets ... and ... carrying banners to ganyang (crush) Malaysia do not represent the majority.
"But the argument that Malaysians menklaim their culture is more than just about national pride. It is about sending the message that they take their culture seriously."
Absoutely. We certainly do not take our culture seriously. How long will us take to understand that tourism promotion dances are tourism promotion dances, not culture? There are others who can make a much better case for makyong, menora, wayang kulit or even bangsawan, for that matter, than I can, so I shall confine my comments to literature.
Cultural identity
Dato' Johan continues: "We were 'brought up' in a different manner, if you like. The Indonesians developed a strong cultural identity ... They believe in 'oneness' ... and the articulation of a single bangsa -- Bangsa Indonesia.
"... Our priorities are different. We believe in diversity, in fact the mantra 'strength in diversity' has put us in positions of difficulty at times."
Really? Haven't we heard this enough times? Was it 'strength in diversity" that put us in difficulty, or was that due to something else altogether? Granted diversity is our strength, but what have we used that strength all these decades for, apart from making us an economic powerhouse, and a nation with an unhealthily high corruption index?
The baby is dead
For decades we were told that only one form of writing was acceptable, with war cries of nationhood built into it. Anything not written in bahasa could not be considered as our writing, we were told. But what has happened to literature in bahasa? I remember how it used to flourish in the seventies and the eighties. Congratulations to Dr Anwar Ridhwan for being made a National Laureate this year. The last person to receive the award before him was S Othman Kelantan in 2001. Is it fair to assume that no one else deserved it in the eight-year period in between? Surely, the good Dato' can see the sad state bahasa literature is currently in. Imagine this. A baby has been put in the charge of a minder. The baby dies (from neglect or abuse, no one knows). But, the minder not only continues to coo and dandle the swaddled bundle, but still celebrates birthdays and anniversaries with extravagant public displays, like everything is hunky dory. Is anyone fooled? Aren't there enough people saying that the emperor has no clothes?
Fortunately, there is still a lot of writing in bahasa out there, though much of it would not be classified as literature. Not yet, anyway. I have seen a lot of passion, wit and vitality in them, and the last thing they need is to be swaddled and smothered. They need to grow. They need to be allowed to grow. They are produced mainly by fringe groups now, and are a little uneven, works in progress, but they may be the only hope for the future of writing in bahasa in this country. Anyone who has read Kasut Biru Rubina will tell you that it is so. And, believe you me; they shun the institutions like poison.
Fostering book mindedness
India too has a national book institution: The National Book Trust of India (NBT) was set by their first prime minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, in 1957. From the website:
"Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru believed that India could develop as a democratic self-reliant and forward-looking society only in an environment of intellectual stimulation. In this context, he felt that effective measures should be taken to foster book mindedness amongst people of different ages and walks of life.
"The National Book Trust was never visualised as just another publishing house, competing with other Indian publishers.... (but) as a catalyst to encourage publishers ... "
The NBT supported writing in all languages used in India. The rest, as they say, is history.
Singaporean envy
Ironically, after all these decades of what can only be described as suppression, Malaysia has become somewhat famous internationally for writing in English! (So much so that some Singaporeans are somewhat envious of us.) I receive queries from (sometimes I get badgered by) foreign publishers and literary agents all the time for manuscripts by Malaysian writers. They cannot understand that Malaysian writers who write in English are simply those who do so despite the system, those who have fallen through the cracks, so to speak, and that there are really not that many of them around.
Chinese and Tamil
Some years ago an academic from a local university said this: "Who says there is no Malaysian literature? Of course, there is. It is only that it's in Chinese."
Malaysian Chinese literature, I have been told, is of international standard, on par with works originating from Taiwan and Hong Kong, but better than that from Singapore. (Since I cannot read Mandarin, I have to take their word for it.) The biennial international competition run by Sin Chew has been called the Chinese Booker -- an exaggeration, perhaps. But never mind. I was once shown a literary pullout from a local Chinese daily. Like I said, I cannot read Mandarin. But two words in Roman alphabets, within brackets, stood out on the same page: [BORGES] and [BUKOWSKI]. I have yet to see any other local daily discuss anything remotely more intellectual than Harry Potter.
As for Tamil literature, I have been told it still exists, though barely. I understand that circulation is poor and authors attempt to recover costs by organising book launches and holding 'auctions'. There are, apparently, fewer and fewer Tamil readers nowadays. A ray of hope seems to be coming from a rather unlikely corner though: with the abolition of the teaching of science and maths in English, more Indian parents are beginning to send their children to Tamil schools!
Chili crab
So, is there such a thing as Malaysian literature? Yes there is, but it survives in many forms. What is vital is some acceptance and recognition. Perhaps then we can lay claim to our very own cultural cachet. In the meantime, I guess we will have to continue to live with Indonesian condescension.
And, while we are at it, let's drop the chili crab nonsense right now.
New Straits Times
Culture is sancrosanct
He says: "... to the Indonesians, culture is sacrosanct.
"We erroneously believe that the ones protesting are in the minority ... (but almost) every scholar, artist and journalist in Indonesia is adamant that Malaysia has no right ...
"... they (the scholars) all agree, carrying bamboo spears and 'hunting' for Malaysians in the markets ... and ... carrying banners to ganyang (crush) Malaysia do not represent the majority.
"But the argument that Malaysians menklaim their culture is more than just about national pride. It is about sending the message that they take their culture seriously."
Absoutely. We certainly do not take our culture seriously. How long will us take to understand that tourism promotion dances are tourism promotion dances, not culture? There are others who can make a much better case for makyong, menora, wayang kulit or even bangsawan, for that matter, than I can, so I shall confine my comments to literature.
Cultural identity
Dato' Johan continues: "We were 'brought up' in a different manner, if you like. The Indonesians developed a strong cultural identity ... They believe in 'oneness' ... and the articulation of a single bangsa -- Bangsa Indonesia.
"... Our priorities are different. We believe in diversity, in fact the mantra 'strength in diversity' has put us in positions of difficulty at times."
Really? Haven't we heard this enough times? Was it 'strength in diversity" that put us in difficulty, or was that due to something else altogether? Granted diversity is our strength, but what have we used that strength all these decades for, apart from making us an economic powerhouse, and a nation with an unhealthily high corruption index?
The baby is dead
For decades we were told that only one form of writing was acceptable, with war cries of nationhood built into it. Anything not written in bahasa could not be considered as our writing, we were told. But what has happened to literature in bahasa? I remember how it used to flourish in the seventies and the eighties. Congratulations to Dr Anwar Ridhwan for being made a National Laureate this year. The last person to receive the award before him was S Othman Kelantan in 2001. Is it fair to assume that no one else deserved it in the eight-year period in between? Surely, the good Dato' can see the sad state bahasa literature is currently in. Imagine this. A baby has been put in the charge of a minder. The baby dies (from neglect or abuse, no one knows). But, the minder not only continues to coo and dandle the swaddled bundle, but still celebrates birthdays and anniversaries with extravagant public displays, like everything is hunky dory. Is anyone fooled? Aren't there enough people saying that the emperor has no clothes?
Fortunately, there is still a lot of writing in bahasa out there, though much of it would not be classified as literature. Not yet, anyway. I have seen a lot of passion, wit and vitality in them, and the last thing they need is to be swaddled and smothered. They need to grow. They need to be allowed to grow. They are produced mainly by fringe groups now, and are a little uneven, works in progress, but they may be the only hope for the future of writing in bahasa in this country. Anyone who has read Kasut Biru Rubina will tell you that it is so. And, believe you me; they shun the institutions like poison.
Fostering book mindedness
India too has a national book institution: The National Book Trust of India (NBT) was set by their first prime minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, in 1957. From the website:
"Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru believed that India could develop as a democratic self-reliant and forward-looking society only in an environment of intellectual stimulation. In this context, he felt that effective measures should be taken to foster book mindedness amongst people of different ages and walks of life.
"The National Book Trust was never visualised as just another publishing house, competing with other Indian publishers.... (but) as a catalyst to encourage publishers ... "
The NBT supported writing in all languages used in India. The rest, as they say, is history.
Singaporean envy
Ironically, after all these decades of what can only be described as suppression, Malaysia has become somewhat famous internationally for writing in English! (So much so that some Singaporeans are somewhat envious of us.) I receive queries from (sometimes I get badgered by) foreign publishers and literary agents all the time for manuscripts by Malaysian writers. They cannot understand that Malaysian writers who write in English are simply those who do so despite the system, those who have fallen through the cracks, so to speak, and that there are really not that many of them around.
Chinese and Tamil
Some years ago an academic from a local university said this: "Who says there is no Malaysian literature? Of course, there is. It is only that it's in Chinese."
Malaysian Chinese literature, I have been told, is of international standard, on par with works originating from Taiwan and Hong Kong, but better than that from Singapore. (Since I cannot read Mandarin, I have to take their word for it.) The biennial international competition run by Sin Chew has been called the Chinese Booker -- an exaggeration, perhaps. But never mind. I was once shown a literary pullout from a local Chinese daily. Like I said, I cannot read Mandarin. But two words in Roman alphabets, within brackets, stood out on the same page: [BORGES] and [BUKOWSKI]. I have yet to see any other local daily discuss anything remotely more intellectual than Harry Potter.
As for Tamil literature, I have been told it still exists, though barely. I understand that circulation is poor and authors attempt to recover costs by organising book launches and holding 'auctions'. There are, apparently, fewer and fewer Tamil readers nowadays. A ray of hope seems to be coming from a rather unlikely corner though: with the abolition of the teaching of science and maths in English, more Indian parents are beginning to send their children to Tamil schools!
Chili crab
So, is there such a thing as Malaysian literature? Yes there is, but it survives in many forms. What is vital is some acceptance and recognition. Perhaps then we can lay claim to our very own cultural cachet. In the meantime, I guess we will have to continue to live with Indonesian condescension.
And, while we are at it, let's drop the chili crab nonsense right now.
New Straits Times
Labels: Language, Publishing
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Sunday, July 29, 2007
A short story in newspeak
I was on an Indian Airline's flight to New Delhi when I first heard the word. A lilting female voice asked all passengers to ensure that they take all their belongings with them when they 'deplane'. Did I hear that correctly? On my return flight to Kuala Lumpur another female voice also made the same request. That's when I realised that I was acquiring a whole new vocabulary. I am quite familiar with unique Indianisms like 'miscreants absconding', or meetings gettting 'preponed', or how one took an aspirin when one's head was 'paining', or how one could put his or her bags into a car's 'dickey'. But I thought 'deplane' was almost stratoscopically brilliant. The economy and precision of the word excited me.
English is finally becoming more precise, and concise, as it should. Why didn't we think of this before? If one could 'deplane', then we could do the opposite: 'enplane', and the other parts of speech like 'deplaning' and 'enplaning' would, logically, follow.
But why stop there. If we apply the same rules to a car we can have 'encar', 'encarred', 'encarring', 'decar', 'decarred', and 'decarring' (note the two 'r's). And when we go to a bank we can 'enbank' or 'debank' money and we could do it in the past and the continuous tense.
Let me illustrate this with a short story:
"Where is the miscreant?" I asked Sergeant Ishak.
"In the toilet, sir."
"You let him go in there alone?" I tried hard not to make it sound like an admonishment but didn't quite succeed.
"He wanted to do number two, sir!" the Sergeant protested, the pitch of his voice rising a notch, like it did every time he whined. "But don't worry sir, I have locked the door." He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
"Open that door. Now." I suppose I must have raised my voice a little, if not shouted, judging from the way Sergeant Ishak jumped up instantly, fumbled with the big bundle of keys hooked to his belt and finally opened the door with trembling hands.
The window was ajar. The miscreant had absconded.
"Quick. Get to the car. I know where he's headed."
We ran towards my car because we had no time to summon a squad car. "You drive," I said to Sergeant Ishak, tossing him the ignition keys and encarring on the passenger side. Ishak was the better driver.
The traffic was crazy, but he knew his way. He went through this back alley, and that side alley and through all sorts of housing roads, before enhighwaying towards the airport. Ishak got us to the airport in twenty minutes. I wished he had been quicker. But I could not complain.
"You park the car and look for me at the check-in counter," I shouted over my pounding heart, opening the door and decarring in one quick motion. I cannot let that bastard get away. I knew that there was a flight to Mumbai scheduled to leave in half an hour. I had to catch him before he enplaned or there would be all sorts of problems if I ordered the plane not to derunway. I raced through the departure lounge almost colliding into a train of trolleys, ran into an old man with a red beard on his way to his umrah judging from his clothes, and almost squashed a child that got between my legs, all the while looking around for signs of the miscreant. I was breathless and panting when I got to the information counter.
"Can I help you, sir?" Yes, it was true. They have trained them to be polite.
"Flight AI 216 to Mumbai ... which gate are they enplaning?" I gasped and spluttered.
"C24, sir. But the flight left fifteen minutes ago. It was preponed by half an hour.
"What? How can they ...?"
"I can't answer that, sir. The flight has already left."
I was still sitting on the bench, head on my hands, swearing under my breath, when Ishak sauntered up to me unhurriedly half an hour later. It infuriated me endlessly, but I knew he never walked quickly lest his pants got wrinkled.
"What took you so long?"
"Hee, hee ..." he simpered, with that obligatory scratch of the hair on the back of his neck. "Saya pi' minum." He had gone for a drink. Then he put on his serious face. "Did you catch him, sir?"
I was so angry, all I did was mumble.
"Prepone, sir? Did you say prepone? There is a prepone kiosk on the way to the carpark. I saw it on the way in."
I stared at him in disbelief. I was speechless. For a while I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or kill him on the spot. Then I laughed. "Oh, what the hell," I said, "Where is this free phone? Might as well use it to call home. I don't have much credit left in my mobile."
I saw an ATM on the way to the kiosk and I thought I'd debank some money. The office would have embanked all the salary cheques by now. I will tell my wife not to cook anything tonight. I will take the family out for an expensive Italian dinner. The kids will love that. They love pasta. I cannot let that bastard ruin my day.
(Feel free to continue this story below, but remember to use 'newspeak'.)
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English is finally becoming more precise, and concise, as it should. Why didn't we think of this before? If one could 'deplane', then we could do the opposite: 'enplane', and the other parts of speech like 'deplaning' and 'enplaning' would, logically, follow.
But why stop there. If we apply the same rules to a car we can have 'encar', 'encarred', 'encarring', 'decar', 'decarred', and 'decarring' (note the two 'r's). And when we go to a bank we can 'enbank' or 'debank' money and we could do it in the past and the continuous tense.
Let me illustrate this with a short story:
"Where is the miscreant?" I asked Sergeant Ishak.
"In the toilet, sir."
"You let him go in there alone?" I tried hard not to make it sound like an admonishment but didn't quite succeed.
"He wanted to do number two, sir!" the Sergeant protested, the pitch of his voice rising a notch, like it did every time he whined. "But don't worry sir, I have locked the door." He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
"Open that door. Now." I suppose I must have raised my voice a little, if not shouted, judging from the way Sergeant Ishak jumped up instantly, fumbled with the big bundle of keys hooked to his belt and finally opened the door with trembling hands.
The window was ajar. The miscreant had absconded.
"Quick. Get to the car. I know where he's headed."
We ran towards my car because we had no time to summon a squad car. "You drive," I said to Sergeant Ishak, tossing him the ignition keys and encarring on the passenger side. Ishak was the better driver.
The traffic was crazy, but he knew his way. He went through this back alley, and that side alley and through all sorts of housing roads, before enhighwaying towards the airport. Ishak got us to the airport in twenty minutes. I wished he had been quicker. But I could not complain.
"You park the car and look for me at the check-in counter," I shouted over my pounding heart, opening the door and decarring in one quick motion. I cannot let that bastard get away. I knew that there was a flight to Mumbai scheduled to leave in half an hour. I had to catch him before he enplaned or there would be all sorts of problems if I ordered the plane not to derunway. I raced through the departure lounge almost colliding into a train of trolleys, ran into an old man with a red beard on his way to his umrah judging from his clothes, and almost squashed a child that got between my legs, all the while looking around for signs of the miscreant. I was breathless and panting when I got to the information counter.
"Can I help you, sir?" Yes, it was true. They have trained them to be polite.
"Flight AI 216 to Mumbai ... which gate are they enplaning?" I gasped and spluttered.
"C24, sir. But the flight left fifteen minutes ago. It was preponed by half an hour.
"What? How can they ...?"
"I can't answer that, sir. The flight has already left."
I was still sitting on the bench, head on my hands, swearing under my breath, when Ishak sauntered up to me unhurriedly half an hour later. It infuriated me endlessly, but I knew he never walked quickly lest his pants got wrinkled.
"What took you so long?"
"Hee, hee ..." he simpered, with that obligatory scratch of the hair on the back of his neck. "Saya pi' minum." He had gone for a drink. Then he put on his serious face. "Did you catch him, sir?"
I was so angry, all I did was mumble.
"Prepone, sir? Did you say prepone? There is a prepone kiosk on the way to the carpark. I saw it on the way in."
I stared at him in disbelief. I was speechless. For a while I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or kill him on the spot. Then I laughed. "Oh, what the hell," I said, "Where is this free phone? Might as well use it to call home. I don't have much credit left in my mobile."
I saw an ATM on the way to the kiosk and I thought I'd debank some money. The office would have embanked all the salary cheques by now. I will tell my wife not to cook anything tonight. I will take the family out for an expensive Italian dinner. The kids will love that. They love pasta. I cannot let that bastard ruin my day.
(Feel free to continue this story below, but remember to use 'newspeak'.)
Labels: Language
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After I enwalleted my cash, I walked towards the ‘free phone’ kiosk. Sergeant Ishak was chatting merrily on the phone perched on the wall. Despite the fact that a miscreant has escaped under his watch, he looked totally disworried. An ‘Internal Call Only’ sign was prominently displayed above the phone station.
“Who’re you talking to?” I asked him after he hung up fifteen minutes later. Sergeant Ishak was grinning as he explained, “That phone is great! I dialed for my mother, but instead I got connected to a young girl with sweet voice. And guess what? She’s working in this airport. This particular airport, sir! What a coincidence. I even got her hand phone number, and its first three digits matches mine. I think this is a sign for above!”
I shuddered at the thought of Ishak dating, getting married, procreating and thus, retaining his DNA traits in our genes pool.
“Let’s go back to the station and no detour for a drink, please,” I instructed him. Sergeant Ishak nodded his, “OK, sir! Anyway, it’s not 3:30pm yet.”
The way he expertly weaved through the city’s traffic got me curious. “How come you’re so familiar with all the small roads and shortcuts?”
“I learned it from my brother in law Kamal. He’s a clerk in the Tourism Ministry. Since his boss ‘pergi kursus’ most of the time, Kamal and his colleague shared a taxi business. They’ll drive in two shifts, and take turn to punch in and out their office attendance cards.”
I said nothing. Statistically-speaking those two were the most productive members of our society; two persons doing the job of three.
“Who’re you talking to?” I asked him after he hung up fifteen minutes later. Sergeant Ishak was grinning as he explained, “That phone is great! I dialed for my mother, but instead I got connected to a young girl with sweet voice. And guess what? She’s working in this airport. This particular airport, sir! What a coincidence. I even got her hand phone number, and its first three digits matches mine. I think this is a sign for above!”
I shuddered at the thought of Ishak dating, getting married, procreating and thus, retaining his DNA traits in our genes pool.
“Let’s go back to the station and no detour for a drink, please,” I instructed him. Sergeant Ishak nodded his, “OK, sir! Anyway, it’s not 3:30pm yet.”
The way he expertly weaved through the city’s traffic got me curious. “How come you’re so familiar with all the small roads and shortcuts?”
“I learned it from my brother in law Kamal. He’s a clerk in the Tourism Ministry. Since his boss ‘pergi kursus’ most of the time, Kamal and his colleague shared a taxi business. They’ll drive in two shifts, and take turn to punch in and out their office attendance cards.”
I said nothing. Statistically-speaking those two were the most productive members of our society; two persons doing the job of three.
The term "deplane" has been in use for donkey's years. I've been hearing it used over and over again since the 70's. Generally on American carriers.
it's an american expression and i've heard it used before.
the brits use "disembark" which of course being a brit, i much prefer. it comes from the days of shipping (as does "stow" handluggage instead of "store").
"disembark" originally "undo embarcation" and "embarcation" means "enter a boat [bark], so it is pretty old fashioned. i guess those who coined the neologism wanted something more modern.
the brits use "disembark" which of course being a brit, i much prefer. it comes from the days of shipping (as does "stow" handluggage instead of "store").
"disembark" originally "undo embarcation" and "embarcation" means "enter a boat [bark], so it is pretty old fashioned. i guess those who coined the neologism wanted something more modern.
England does strike me as being somewhat old-fashioned. Do you know I can roughly guess someone's age from the words they use ? it's weird. Anyway, noticed the google ad. Looks like you're going to be enwalleting some US dollars soon :)
PS. Shouldn't it be "an Indian Airlines flight" ?
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PS. Shouldn't it be "an Indian Airlines flight" ?
# posted by 
: 1:47 AM
: 1:47 AM<< Home
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Translation trauma
In a recent column in the NST, Translations help broaden our horizons, on Saturday, June 23rd, Dato' Johan Jaafar, wrote about the paucity of translated works in this country when compared to Thailand or Indonesia. He does not say it outright, he is too polite, but the implications are clear: that there is a direct relationship between parochialism amongst Malaysians (simply listen to some of the things our politicians say) and our lack of reading and access to the world. We have become one with the proverbial katak. Literature and writings broaden horizons. That is given. No arguments there. In fact, what is embarrassing is that we should be it in this day. (Hello, look at the calendar, it says 2007.)
Two recent translations into Malay were Herman Hesse's Siddhartha and Jostein Gardner's Sophie's World, both by ITNM. While they are most welcome, they only managed to highlight the problem. I went into their website to find out more about the translators. It says on the website, 'The Malaysian National Institute of Translation (Institut Terjemahan Negara Malaysia or ITNM) is a limited company established by the government of Malaysia on 14 September 1993. Its share capital is wholly owned by the Ministry of Finance while its administration is managed by the Ministry of Education.' I looked under their 'eCatalogue' link and found that two (2) books were translated and published in 1995, 26 in 1997, 2 in 1998, 14 in 2003, and 20 in 2004. (I suspect the website has not been updated since then, which is not very surprising.) That would make it 62 books in 11 years (5.6 books a year) - the vast majority of them looked like school textbooks. In comparison, the (undated) paper by Saran Kaur Gill of UKM entitled Language Policy And Planning In Higher Education in Malaysia, says that from 1959 to 1995, a period of 39 years, Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, translated 374 books (9.6 books a year). (The national Book Trust of India, established in 1957, does 800 a year.)
Both the figures are obviously not grand - in total less than 600 books have been translated (including 160 Saran Kaur Gill quotes for the various universities) in the last 50 years. (How many million ringgit would that be for each book? Anyone have the figures?) No wonder we are so parochial. And how are we supposed to compete with the world, again?
I would, at this point, like to relate a personal experience. I was at a meeting at Dewan Bahasa once. On the way back I decided to pop into the bookshop to see if they still had a Malay translation of (Nobel laureate) Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali by Latiff Mohidin. They did, four copies. I decided to get two because they were only RM6.00 each. So cheap, I thought. But I was in for a surprise. When I went up to the cashier to pay, she told me that there was a discount on 'old' books and she charged me RM1.80 a copy! This was the translation of one of the most important works in modern world literature, by one of Malaysia's most important poets (and painter), and it was being sold like paper lama! I would have gladly paid RM18.00 or RM24.00 for it. And the sadder story is that you will not find a copy of this book in any of our Malaysian bookshops. Talk about a society that does not value its writers or their books. What national culture are we talking about?
I have said it several times and I have said this to the top brass at Dewan: I would love to stock books by Dewan Bahasa at Silverfish Books, but how do I get hold of them? An American customer made this observation: walk into any bookshop in Kuala Lumpur and you see them filled with imported books from the UK and the US. Where are your local books? At the bottom shelf in the back of the shop, if at all. This is a bizarre country.
Comparisons with other countries are always fraught with danger. But Dato Johan's point out: "In Indonesia, by contrast, there are cases of books launched in London or New York being published simultaneously in Bahasa Indonesia. In fact, on the streets of Jakarta translated books are hawked as aggressively as local pulp fiction."
As for promoting Malaysian literature worldwide in translation … don't even get me started on that.
Full story: http://www.nst.com.my/Current_News/NST/Saturday/Columns/20070623084142/Article/pppull_index_html
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Two recent translations into Malay were Herman Hesse's Siddhartha and Jostein Gardner's Sophie's World, both by ITNM. While they are most welcome, they only managed to highlight the problem. I went into their website to find out more about the translators. It says on the website, 'The Malaysian National Institute of Translation (Institut Terjemahan Negara Malaysia or ITNM) is a limited company established by the government of Malaysia on 14 September 1993. Its share capital is wholly owned by the Ministry of Finance while its administration is managed by the Ministry of Education.' I looked under their 'eCatalogue' link and found that two (2) books were translated and published in 1995, 26 in 1997, 2 in 1998, 14 in 2003, and 20 in 2004. (I suspect the website has not been updated since then, which is not very surprising.) That would make it 62 books in 11 years (5.6 books a year) - the vast majority of them looked like school textbooks. In comparison, the (undated) paper by Saran Kaur Gill of UKM entitled Language Policy And Planning In Higher Education in Malaysia, says that from 1959 to 1995, a period of 39 years, Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, translated 374 books (9.6 books a year). (The national Book Trust of India, established in 1957, does 800 a year.)
Both the figures are obviously not grand - in total less than 600 books have been translated (including 160 Saran Kaur Gill quotes for the various universities) in the last 50 years. (How many million ringgit would that be for each book? Anyone have the figures?) No wonder we are so parochial. And how are we supposed to compete with the world, again?
I would, at this point, like to relate a personal experience. I was at a meeting at Dewan Bahasa once. On the way back I decided to pop into the bookshop to see if they still had a Malay translation of (Nobel laureate) Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali by Latiff Mohidin. They did, four copies. I decided to get two because they were only RM6.00 each. So cheap, I thought. But I was in for a surprise. When I went up to the cashier to pay, she told me that there was a discount on 'old' books and she charged me RM1.80 a copy! This was the translation of one of the most important works in modern world literature, by one of Malaysia's most important poets (and painter), and it was being sold like paper lama! I would have gladly paid RM18.00 or RM24.00 for it. And the sadder story is that you will not find a copy of this book in any of our Malaysian bookshops. Talk about a society that does not value its writers or their books. What national culture are we talking about?
I have said it several times and I have said this to the top brass at Dewan: I would love to stock books by Dewan Bahasa at Silverfish Books, but how do I get hold of them? An American customer made this observation: walk into any bookshop in Kuala Lumpur and you see them filled with imported books from the UK and the US. Where are your local books? At the bottom shelf in the back of the shop, if at all. This is a bizarre country.
Comparisons with other countries are always fraught with danger. But Dato Johan's point out: "In Indonesia, by contrast, there are cases of books launched in London or New York being published simultaneously in Bahasa Indonesia. In fact, on the streets of Jakarta translated books are hawked as aggressively as local pulp fiction."
As for promoting Malaysian literature worldwide in translation … don't even get me started on that.
Full story: http://www.nst.com.my/Current_News/NST/Saturday/Columns/20070623084142/Article/pppull_index_html
Labels: Language
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